


How to Destroy Angels

by akaya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, angst baby, it's a deathfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaya/pseuds/akaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't drink tea anymore, Sherlock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Destroy Angels

**Author's Note:**

> A little snippet that may or may not be a part of a longer fic.

“I don't drink tea anymore, Sherlock,” John says and leans against the kitchen counter, watching him. Sherlock's hand is hovering over of the slightly dusty teacups, before he reminds himself that John is right.

“Yes, of course,” he nods, more to himself than to to John. “Not good.”

“A bit not good, yes,” John huffs with a smile and scratches his left elbow, Sherlock's eyes following the innocent and completely natural gesture. I want to touch, he thinks and barely contains himself from reaching out. “So,” John continues, his voice cutting through the uneasy air around them, and this time Sherlock can't blame it on some random chemical left unattended for too long. “How is life?”

“Life?” Sherlock repeats, although he knows it's unnecessary. It's a perfectly legitimate question after all, perfectly normal. “Life's good, yes.”

“Any new cases?” John asks again, fingers of his left hand flexing, before settling down on the edge of the counter again, pale and thin, so different than when they first met. Sherlock remembers John's hands then, tanned, strong, very efficient with a gun. Warm.

He wonders if John's hands are still as warm as they used to be, and lost in thought doesn't notice that his friend is frowning. “Sherlock?”

“No, no new cases. Solved one yesterday, dull little thing. Wife killed her lover, tried to push the guilt onto her husband, tedious and boring,” Sherlock answers. _Dull_ , he thinks. _So dull_.

“Ah, thought so,” John sighs and looks at the floor, between them. The kitchen tiles are dirty, spotted with red and blue dots, probably from one of the chemicals. “And how is Lestrade?”

“Retired,” _for five years now._

“Ah, well -” John scratches his elbow again, and clears his throat. “This is a bit awkward.”

“Yes, yes it is -” Sherlock barks a bitter laugh, and John's little smile slips from his face, so Sherlock adds hastily, “But don't go, please.”

John's eyes meet his, and he drinks into the sight of them, greedily; looking for something, for sparkle of life, for this small thing that is John, that always was John. But he finds nothing.

John's eyes are empty, the blue shade in them merely a cover, so that no one would notice.  
Sherlock does, and it cuts him deeper than a knife would.

“I'm sorry,” John whispers and turns his head away. “I'm so, so sorry.”

“John,” Sherlock chokes, throat suddenly dry like a parched paper. “Please.”

“No, Sherlock,” John says and pushes himself from the counter, looking anywhere, but at Sherlock. “It was a bad idea. I'm sorry.”

No, thinks Sherlock desperately. No, you're not.

“You're not dull,” he says instead, this time reaching for the slightly smaller man, but John sidesteps him, effortlessly and from the corner of his eye, Sherlock can see his shoulders shaking. John is laughing.

“I'm not anything, Sherlock,” John says, calming himself down. “I'm not anything.”

“Yes, yes you are,” Sherlock bristles angrily. “You are bloody John Watson, you're an Army Doctor and you are – you are,” the voice dies in his throat. John's palm is cupping his cheek.

Its cold, so cold.

“I was, Sherlock. I was John Watson, an Army Doctor. I was your -” he stops here, and Sherlock has to close his eyes, because it's too much. “I was.”

 _Please_ , Sherlock thinks, but there is no one in the room with him that could hear him anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, kudos & critics appreciated


End file.
